


Every Night in My Dreams

by MaryTheGizka



Series: There Is No Passion [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, I don't know, I literally have no idea what is considered appropriate or explicit or whatever, I mean is it considered 'okay' if I don't actually describe it?, look I don't know how to rate this, same for body-horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-15 11:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryTheGizka/pseuds/MaryTheGizka
Summary: Revan is plagued with dreams of her past.





	Every Night in My Dreams

Her head rests on his shoulder as the sun sets on the old grove, and surely the Masters would tell them that this is no way to meditate, but Revan’s never felt more at peace. A Brith glides over them, drifting idly in the warm summer breeze. She shifts to look at his face and feels the corners of her mouth lift up.

“See something funny?” he smiles.

“No, silly. I’m just too cozy to head back.”

She nestles back into his side, his arm wrapping around her as they lay back in the tall grass, and her eyelids slowly drift closed.

Revan blinks and makes out the gray ceiling of the starboard dorm, the soft whir of the machines, and Juhani’s calm, steady breathing. It’s been a week since the battle on the Star Forge, and the dreams are not letting up. It’s like a passage has been dug out, like a dam has been breached, and the stream of remembrance now trickles through the crack, filling the unnatural void carved in her mind against her will. Not a night goes by that another memory doesn’t resurface. That she doesn’t feel pulled to an unreachable past. That she doesn’t talk to a ghost.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “We looked happy.”

The ghost doesn’t answer. It isn’t there.

* * *

“You can’t keep sneaking into Mandalorian camps alone!”

She smirks.

“That’s the concept of sneaking, darling. If I send in a battalion, it’s called storming.”

Malak sighs.

“You always have a comeback, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she winks. “That’s why you love me.”

Malak pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I do but you’re infuriating. Why does it have to be you?”

She brings a hand to her mouth, faking shock.

“You wound me.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Why are you doing the dirty work?”

“Our troops sustain far less losses when enemy weapons misfire.”

“Doesn’t tell me why it’s you.”

She doesn’t know how to answer that. If she’s being honest, any decent scout with a good stealth generator could do the job just as well.

“Someone has to,” she says.

She knows it’s not an answer. Apparently, so does Malak.

“That’s it? ‘Someone has to’? What do you think will happen when they figure it out? What do you think will happen if you get caught, Revan? Do you have any idea what Mandalore will do to you if he gets his hands on…”

She puts an index on his lips. They’re warm.

“Shhh…” she whispers.

Despite his anger, his face softens.

“Do you really want to think about that?”

She leans in close, so close she can feel his heartbeat quicken as her hands slide down his waist and around his neck.

“Not really,” he breathes.

“Good. Me neither.”

The rest is of the dream is hazy. A moan. A kiss. Muscle and scars. Still, she wakes up panting, her body warm and loose and tangled in the sheets, and catches sight of her pillow resting halfway across the dorm. She gets out of bed, her underwear soggy with sweat. Her eyes land on Juhani’s still form, and a pang of guilt runs through her as Revan realizes she’s awake.

“That’s alright, Revan.”

No, it’s not.

* * *

She’s never seen anything like it. At last, the Star Forge is theirs. There is something mesmerizing about it. Perhaps it's the sheer size of it, or the way it orbits unperturbed around the star, draining the life from it, but slowly, gracefully, in twined billows of light. Or perhaps it’s simply _power_. Pure, infinite, blinding, and soon, at her complete disposal. Already, she can feel the dark side throbbing, pouring off it and straight into her veins.

“Do you feel it, Malak?”

“Yes, Revan.” There is lust in his voice, and Revan knows it is as much for the dark power that surrounds them as it is for her. “It’s ours now.”

Revan awakes with a gasp, the craving lingering at the edge of her mind. It’s not alright. She’s not alright.

* * *

A crowd of soldiers watches, petrified and breathless, frozen in their grey uniforms as they take the fight to the bridge. _Good_, she thinks. Let it be an example to any who might toy with the thought of defying her.

Malak parries her blow as she aims for his chest, and his counterattack sends her reeling back. She rolls back up and charges, her saber clashing against his in a blood-red flurry of light.

“Revan, stop!”

Oh, but she won’t. Another stroke and she sends his lightsaber flying. He calls it back into his hand and ignites it again. Too late. Her blade slams into his face.

Revan jerks awake, her head nearly colliding with Mission’s as she sits up in her bed.

“Easy,” the girl soothes. “You were screaming.”

Her breath is still heavy, filled with the smell of burnt flesh.

“I’m a monster, Mission.”

The girl puts a hand on her shoulder.

“No, you’re not. Not anymore.”

That’s the catch, isn’t it? They know about the dreams, but they still think Darth Revan is gone, that she would never fall or hurt them again, that most of it remains hidden in a distant past and safely locked away in the confines of her sick, broken mind. But it doesn’t feel distant to her. It’s as vivid as ever.

* * *

Revan is cold. It’s been months since Malak could bring himself to touch her. He’s right not to. She’s a Lord of the Sith now, and it’s ironic, isn’t it? What the Jedi couldn’t pry from her, she has destroyed all on her own. So be it. She’s Darth Revan, not some fragile, pitiful creature in need of another’s warmth. She doesn’t need affection. She doesn’t need a weakness. And she certainly doesn’t need love. Not when she has _power_, not when she holds the galaxy in the palm of her hand.

But old habits die hard. So she stands by the viewport, watching his shuttle leave, and his last words echo in her mind:

“There’s no going back now, but for what it’s worth, I wish Malachor had never happened.”

What a weak, impossible wish.

She turns around as the small ship enters the Leviathan’s maw.

And suddenly, the deck rattles. The alarms go off and the guards draw their weapons. She knows what it means: her ship has been boarded. Behind the blast doors, a lightsaber hums.

She doesn’t see the Jedi fall. She doesn’t see the shot that almost takes her life. She already has. Back then, things were simple – if rescuing a wanted Jedi on an occupied planet without attracting the Sith’s attention could be called simple. She didn’t know who she was. She didn’t know what she’d done. To an extent, she still doesn’t.

Malak’s words echo in her head once more:

“For what it’s worth, I wish Malachor had never happened.”

She knows about the battle. She knows they won. But now she also knows that something else happened there, something secret and forbidden, something they barely ever mentioned … and she doesn’t know what that is. She has to.

“I will find out,” she says. “I promise. Whatever happened to us, whatever changed us, I will find out. And this time I won’t let it win.” 


End file.
